AI Targets Writers and Editors
May 6, 2026
Things got personal between AI and me over the last couple of weeks. The worst part is, I cannot imagine why anyone went to the trouble to set it loose on writers.
The first email was from the director of the annual Hay Festival, in Hay-on-Wye, the “National Book Town of Wales,” which I have always wanted to visit. The director had read one of my books, which she described accurately and in detail, emphasizing how its “archival research, oral-history elements, and narrative clarity…illuminate national and even global themes of labour, violence, and community memory.”
The “director” said the festival has “a vibrant environment for literary discussion, cultural exchange, and creative inspiration…. A key highlight for participants is the opportunity to engage directly with an international audience of readers, fellow writers, publishing professionals, and cultural commentators, often leading to meaningful conversations and new collaborative opportunities.”
The festival was itching to pay my way to Wales and cover accommodation; all I needed to do was to “please reply to this email and we will be happy to send full programme details and assist with reserving your place…warm regards,” etc., etc.
It took one email, directly to the festival board, to confirm the whole thing was fabricated.
Similarly, a well-known writer friend said on Facebook this week that he had been “getting this kind of thing at a rate of about 3-5 per month, lately increasing rather scarily.” In his case, the AI pretended to be a senior editor at a top U.S. publishing company—not realizing that that company had actually published four of my friend’s novels and three short story collections. The email said they would love to publish the fiction anthology my friend edited for another top publisher. My friend replied several times (which one should not do), and the AI argued with him over it being a real opportunity. It wanted more contact, but no reason was given, no pitch for money was made.
In the comments to his Facebook post, several dozen writers said they too had been receiving the emails, sometimes as often as every day. A poet I know said there that he had gotten one that was “quite credible,” until the AI “slipped” and put in Georgian letters. Mine contained hidden Korean and Chinese characters. Even those accidents seem tailored to our interests.
Then, a few days ago, a man in Memphis messaged me by LinkedIn to ask if I was the person who had offered to help him market his book. When I said no, he showed me the email (which slightly altered my personal email address and contained my headshot) that offered to make his novel a smash hit.
“There are books about faith that stay abstract,” it said. “Then there are books that understand something more earthy. […] That the industrial, the synthetic, and the mass produced are making way for the artisanal, the organic, and the small batch not just in what we eat and drink, but in how we believe. […] From the moment I encountered your exploration of crafting a handmade faith in a mass market world, I knew you had written something that speaks to a deep hunger.”
“It’s a pretty elaborate scam, actually,” the man wrote me. “But when I asked if [the AI] could get on a call—and when I tried to reach out and confirm one of his references through a different email—I started to suspect something.” There did not seem to be any quick answer as to what the fake email wanted.
In this case, the hook that allowed for “my” pitch to the man was my profile on a site where I really do freelance book editing. The AI used my biography there and referenced the platform for authenticity. It made me sound real good, as it plundered my professional existence, for no clear reason.
